Following
by Sinkme
Summary: Sequel-ish to 'Where One Goes, the Other Will Follow.' Death-fic. Each chapter stands alone from the other but ties in to the original story. A look into what would happen if Hawkeye or Black Widow were to die and how the other one and the team would handle it. First chapter is Clint's death, second chapter is Natasha's. T for language and depictions of blood and death.
1. Natasha

His death would have been ironic if it didn't hurt them so much to think about.

It had been a mission like any other.

Your typical bad guy of the week. This time it happened to be some genetically enhanced monkeys set free by a scientist who took animal lover to a whole new level. It wouldn't have been a problem except for the part where the monkeys had a taste for human flesh.

Minor detail, really.

Thor had dropped Clint off on a rooftop and everything had been running smoothly. Looking back it makes them sick to realize how long it took them to recognize what had happened.

There had been no sudden shift, no abrupt realization, no gut feeling to indicate that their world had turned upside down.

"Stark, you got two on your tail," Clint warned.

An arrow took one down and Tony took care of the other one.

"Is that supposed to be funny? Monkeys? Tails? Really?"

"Not all of us constantly think in puns, Tony."

"Your loss. You had to take one out? Didn't think I could handle them?"

"Actually I wanted to see if I could get both and make this a challenge," Clint taunted.

Steve spoke up, "Looks like we're almost done. Tony, help Thor in rounding the rest of them up. Drive them towards my position. Natasha, Hulk and I will be here to meet them. Clint, stay up there and pick off strays."

"Copy," sounded from each Avenger.

Clint was a constant in their ears and his arrows flew as often as his warnings.

"Got a group two blocks over, Thor you're closer, it's just north of your position."

"How'd they get up there so fast? Tony there's some on a roof at your ten o'clock. Need me to get them or do you think you can handle it?"

"Steve watch your back! Nat, help him out!"

"Tony, grab Hulk, get him to bring Bruce back. He's causing more damage trying to get the last ones than they could possibly do on their own."

Their focus shifted to finishing off the last half dozen monkeys after Thor rejoined them on the ground. Bruce stood to the side and Tony stuck by him, shooting bursts of energy at any target he could find.

In the quiet after all of them had been taken down Tony made some wisecrack about flying monkeys and silence reigned over the comms.

They were still running on their adrenaline highs and smiles and grins were shared as they all regrouped.

When there was no voice in their ear whining for someone to come get him off the roof they realized that something was wrong.

"Hawkeye, come in," Tony hailed the archer.

They waited…

Nothing.

Natasha turned first, her hand already gripping Tony's suit. "Let's go."

Thor grabbed Steve and Bruce and they all got to the roof within minutes.

They could see a body on the far side where Clint had stood during the battle.

Natasha worked her way over first, a slight sense of urgency because of how _still_ he was, but it wasn't the first time one of them had been knocked out and it wouldn't be the last.

They hadn't suspected it, not until they'd heard Natasha scream.

"Clint!"

They were at her side in a heartbeat and they all forget how to breathe.

Clint's eyes were open and unseeing, his body was still and unnaturally pale. Dark blood had pooled underneath and around him and they could see it gleaming against the darkness of his body suit.

There was slick blood dripping from his open mouth and flecks of red on the ground to the side where he'd coughed and choked on it and someone- maybe all of them- yelled their pain to the city.

They learned later that the shot was off its intended mark- Clint's heart- but had pierced his lung. It had been a slow death, and painful. His reinforced suit had offered no resistance against a high-powered sniper round.

When they finally traced the shot back to an old enemy of Hawkeye's they wonder if the shot had been off target on purpose. A punishment for his mission all those years ago that ruined their crime ring.

He'd had his comm. device still in his ear but he hadn't been able to summon enough air to call out for help.

A week later when the counselor tells them that at least Clint had gone out hearing their voices, Steve- _Steve_- had knocked him out with one punch.

Natasha was beating against Clint's chest, words falling out of her mouth in frantic Russian. Tears slipped down her face unnoticed.

Thor stood silently above her, his expression stormy and anguished at he looked down at his fallen friend.

Steve was supporting Bruce and both canted to the side and fell gracelessly to the ground, eyes fixed on Clint's body.

Tony was pacing, his red eyes flitting between Clint and the sky and he alternately pulled his hair and cursed the heavens.

At some point each of them pulled their eyes away from Clint- _still, silent Clint _- and looked to Natasha.

Her face was hard and set, even as her hands shook with some unidentified emotion as they clenched Clint's vest and red seeped onto her fingers.

They didn't know how long they stayed on that roof but eventually their comms crackled to life, startling them all, and Fury's voice resounded in their heads.

"If no one reports to me in the next thirty seconds I'm going to set training at 0400 for a week."

They looked helplessly at each other and then Steve nodded once and answered.

If his voice trembled a little none of them commented.

"This is Rogers."

"Fantastic. Are we clear to begin cleanup?" Fury's blasé attitude snapped something and Tony shouted, "No, you can't fucking start cleanup because we-"

He couldn't finish and from the looks of it, no one else could say it either.

"Avengers? Talk to me!" There was a tone of caution in the Director's voice.

"Barton's down."

Their heads all swerved to Natasha. They'd never heard her sound so broken but her face betrayed none of that.

"What?" Fury sounded as surprised as they'd ever heard him.

"I need intel, Director. Someone shot Clint and I mean to make them all pay," she vowed.

No one moved, it was as though by staying still they could reverse everything. Go back to when Clint was alive and vibrant and _not dead_.

Natasha reached over and pulled an arrow from Clint's quiver. There was blood- his blood- on the fletching and she ran her fingers through it reverently.

She cut open her palm with the sharp tip of the arrow and whispered something that only the wind could hear. She pressed a soft kiss to Clint's forehead and stood.

She didn't look back when she left.

Her travel bag was gone when they got back to the Tower hours later. They'd stayed with Clint, sorrow making their bodies heavy, trying to come to terms with the loss of their archer before they dared to think of Natasha.

There was a note on the counter when they returned.

_He wanted to be cremated. _

It was as practical as it was emotional and they all found a hidden meaning within it to ease their pain.

It was a goodbye to Thor. He knew that once she had enacted her vengeance there would be nothing left of her old self to return to. Not without Hawkeye to guide her back. She would go the same way as Clint.

It was a promise to Steve. She was focusing on her mission and trusted them- trusted him- to take care of Clint. Some small part of him secretly hoped that if they took good enough care of him that she'd come back to them.

It was an apology to Bruce. She hadn't been able to protect Clint. Hadn't been able to hold the team together. And now she wouldn't able to stay in the Tower without him.

It was an admission of love to Tony. The closest Natasha would ever get to telling them that the team meant something to her. But at the same time it was an acknowledgment that whatever it was she felt for all of them, what she'd had with Clint had been worth so much more than that.

They never saw her again.

By the time they collected themselves and got to Fury's office she was already piloting a jet to Europe.

She never took their calls or answered their messages and despite having access to the same information that she did, they never caught up to her.

Each body they found had a hole through the heart with no weapon left nearby.

Two months later they arrived at the scene and found an arrow next to the ringleader's body.

They found seventeen different blood samples on the arrow. Including Clint's and Natasha's.

They continued to search for a year and they never truly give up on her.

The urn next to Clint's was empty but that didn't do anything to diminish their grief.

* * *

Always

Sinkme


	2. Clint

She'd been alone on a mission.

It was nothing new, and certainly nothing they would have ever been concerned about. It should have been a milk run.

The asset had a mile long list of weaknesses. Alcohol, redheads, gambling, drugs. You name it, this guy had dabbled in it.

It was a simple approach, the usual line; 'tell us what you know and you get to live'. Open and shut. He gives up the name- some wannabe gun smuggler who had wandered in and blown a SHIELD operation years in the making- and gets to leave with all limbs attached.

Of all the places she'd been and all the missions she'd completed, it seemed almost blasphemous that a trip to the outskirts of Los Angeles is what killed her.

Her last words in the Tower had been directed to Clint, "Want to come and keep me company? If you fly the jet we can be back before Thor tries to cook dinner in two days."

He'd smirked, "Well, if I didn't know better I'd say you were already missing me, 'Tasha. Can't handle these missions without me anymore?"

Her answer had been to toss her hair over her shoulder, a taunting smile on her face, and walk out the door.

She'd hardly been recognizable the next time they saw her.

They'd been gathered for lunch just a day later- at Pepper's insistence- when Clint's phone rang. "Barton."

He stood, tension immediately freezing his frame. Everyone mimicked his posture, unconsciously standing and moving closer as they listened to Clint's half of the conversation.

"What?"

"No. No!"

"You're sure? You'd better be fucking sure, Hill."

"I'm on my way."

He snapped the phone shut and exploded into action. His go-bag, always packed and ready by the door, was grabbed and he was in the elevator before anyone could open their mouths.

Steve was the first to follow and yelled back over his shoulder, "Tony, call Maria! I'll get to the armory, you guys go to the jet!"

Steve's feet thundered down the stairs, trying desperately to catch up to the elevator. The rest of them listened as Jarvis called Hill and they ran to the roof where Tony had expanded the landing pad and created a suitable place to keep one of the quinjets.

Clint was already running out with his quiver and bow when Steve got there, "Clint, wait!"

Clint didn't even pause, and instead jumped back in the elevator. Cursing, Steve turned and ran back up the stairs. He had a uniform and shield on the jet, just as Tony had one of his suits.

Despite the stairs, Steve was hardly out of breath when he reached the jet. His silent look to the others confirmed that Clint hadn't said anything.

The archer was running around the jet like a man possessed, doing the minimum number of checks possible before throwing himself in the pilot's seat. He didn't even look to make sure they were all onboard before the doors shut behind them.

"Clint, what-"

A hand on Steve's shoulder cut him off.

"It's bad," Tony was uncharacteristically grim.

"What happened? It's Natasha isn't it?" Steve didn't have to ask to have his fear confirmed.

Bruce nodded, "What else would get Clint like this? Natasha's mission was a setup. The guy she was meeting somehow got wind that she was coming and alerted her old friends in Russia."

They didn't dare try to distract Clint; the aerial stunts he pulled under the best circumstances were nerve-wracking, but now? Now he flew without regard to other air traffic, taking the most direct route and keeping as low as possible.

Each of them had suited up and nervous habits took over as their minds wandered. Despite Maria's assurances that Natasha could handle herself, Clint's reaction had them all on edge and worried.

If he was risking all of their lives by flying like this to get to her, he had a damn good reason to be doing it.

Silence reigned.

At some point each of them had made a half attempt to wander closer to Clint in a vain effort to calm him down. Each of them had turned away on their own when they saw the hard set to Clint's jaw and the worry lines around his mouth and eyes.

It was the longest flight of their lives.

In a move completely unlike anything he'd done, Clint landed the plane as close to the building as possible, not even making the attempt at stealth.

Steve finally found his voice, "Alright, we'll move in slowly and-"

Clint was running down the ramp, an arrow already nocked.

"Cover him," Steve yelled as they all scrambled to keep Clint from running right into an ambush.

The doors fell to an explosive arrow and Clint had sprinted through regardless of the debris and fire.

"Natasha!"

His cry echoed in the building.

"Natasha!"

It was the single most desperate, most heartbroken sound any of them had heard.

Steve and Bruce walked in first, followed by Thor and finally Tony, who had thankfully scanned the area for them.

He'd pulled his helmet off and thrown it to the ground when he hadn't found any heat signatures other than Clint's in the building. His yell was drowned out by Clint's.

Thor held Steve and Bruce back once they'd gotten close enough to see.

He needn't have; they'd frozen in place on their own.

Clint was on his knees in front of Natasha, who was still restrained to a chair in the center of the room.

Both their heads were bowed, but where deep, wrenching sobs racked Clint's chest, Natasha's was still and silent.

They couldn't see her face but her body told the story well enough.

Tony stared in open horror at each red stain. Rivulets of blood had snaked down her neck, arms, and legs but there were darker spots along her torso. With each drop that continued to fall he counted out each heartbeat that didn't sound, and each one that ticked down from Clint's own heart. Clint's heart echoed in the quiet where his other half had left him and Tony knew both would soon be silent.

Steve turned away, unable to look at either of his teammates. He flinched with each cry from Clint, and then once again every time that cry went unanswered by Natasha. His eyes clenched shut but he clung to every sound from Clint; he wasn't naïve enough to believe that Clint would stick around long enough to give a verbal goodbye so he memorized what he was given.

Bruce forced himself to breathe but he never turned his gaze away. He balled up his anger, his hatred, the utter desperation he felt and he shoved it down somewhere deep where he knew he could call on it later. Already he could see Clint doing the same. Clint and Natasha were so much the same person that he already knew beyond a doubt that for every drop of blood she'd lost and every ounce of pain she'd suffered, Clint would match with his own to ensure her killers were brought down. Bruce intended to have the same amount of rage to match that for when they found Clint after he was done.

Thor moved closer quietly and left Mjolnir behind. This was not something that his beloved hammer could fix. He perched over Clint's shoulder and silenced a curse when he saw the bruises and blood that marred Natasha's face. Clint's shoulders were tense and his cries had shifted to forceful, loud breaths, the overwhelming sadness morphing into soul-crushing guilt and anger. Thor's words were quiet, "Come, Clinton. Let us bring her home. Bear her hence."

Clint didn't turn to look at him but he slipped his knife out and cut her bonds, catching her gently and shifting her dead weight so that she rested against his body, with one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back.

Bruce had already set up the stretcher on the jet and Clint laid her down with a pained noise deep in his chest. He moved her hair away from her face and kissed over the blood that had partially dried on her forehead. He brought her hand up and placed a kiss on the back and then arranged her hands over her stomach.

For a long minute he didn't move and then just as suddenly he turned back and grabbed Steve by the shoulder.

"Don't follow me," he growled.

They could only gape at the sudden shift and watched silently as he shot two explosive arrows at the roof and brought the building down on itself.

Clint disappeared around the corner of the building and that was the last time they saw their friend alive.

SHIELD had intel from up and down eastern Europe; men shot down in the streets, in their homes, at work. Each had had shady dealings with a certain group in Russia. Clint worked his way through as many people as he could find before there was a sudden, explosive end at what they suspected had been a last resort safehouse for the group's leaders.

They'd buried Natasha, a small ceremony and a bigger headstone than she would have liked but it brought a small smile to each of their faces to think of the things she would have yelled at Tony for commissioning it, so no one changed it.

The groundskeeper called them one day out of the blue and only told them that they should get there as fast as possible.

They weren't prepared to see Clint propped up against the back of the headstone, every bit as bloodied as Natasha had been all those weeks ago. His head was bowed but his face was relaxed and they like to think there was a smile on his lips.

Blood was smeared over his forehead and the back of one hand and a red thumb on his left hand matched the marks.

They buried Clint where they'd found him and the two partners spend the rest of time watching the other's back.

* * *

Always

Sinkme


End file.
